


Stuck in a Rut

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [27]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Blood, Body Horror, Choking, Combat, Come Inflation, Death, Deer, Dirty Talk, Fauns & Satyrs, Friendship, M/M, Mild Gore, Rutting, Shower Sex, Surgery, Violence, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With late fall rolling in, Scout starts feeling rather strange.  It manifests in sudden violent urges and a sexual hunger unusually strong even for the excitable faun.  It can mean only one thing for the cervine supernatural: mating season.</p><p>(Any depictions of blood, death, or violence are kept in a combat and/or surgical context, and are not part of the sexual content of this fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in a Rut

Explosions rocked the covered bridge that spanned the drainage pond between the bases, concussive force and wooden shrapnel ripping through the air. Scout's hoof caught on the railing as he barreled over the edge, the loud clack barely audible over the blast, soon drowned out by the thrum of water entering his pointed ears. The water was cool compared to the desert sun, and it soaked into his sweat-sheened flesh, carrying away the tackiness and the grit, the blood that clung to him and flowed from the holes ripped through his shirt and skin.

He blinked up at the silver surface stretching above him, ripples from his entry following him in a hail of bubbles, his furry legs hanging in the water over him as he drifted slowly toward the bottom. His knickerbockers ballooned out, air still trapped inside, quickly escaping and retreating toward the sky as the fabric and his fur soaked through. Running was going to be sluggish and shitty once he mustered the energy to climb out of the water. But his back stung, and he could taste his blood all around him. His shoulders ached, his thigh was definitely gashed deep, and even his antlers hurt.

The sand gave under his back as it made contact, spraying up a bit with the force of impact, then settling around him, digging into his wounds in its vengeance. His head hit a second later, headset rubbing against his antlers as they jostled. It felt weird, loose, and scratchy, and he grit his teeth as the taste of blood grew stronger. Everything was hot even as the water cooled his skin, and his lungs burned with the dry desert air that filled them, heated in the wake of detonating sticky bombs. Stupid RED Demo loved trapping under the roof of the bridge.

He righted himself in the water, casting his arms about in search of his scattergun. He found nothing but sand and an increasing volume of red wisps curling through the water around him, and gave up. His bat would have to do. He slung it off of his back just in time to notice a rapid series of splashes to his side, under the bridge, heading along the sand bar between the bases' access tunnels.

Heat leapt through Scout as he kicked off of the sandy floor of the pond, surging for the surface and swimming for the shallows. His breaths came unsatisfyingly dry as he came ashore, the splashing footfalls echoing out of the BLU base. Oh, hell no.

He leapt into the drainage tunnel, his body sluggish and waterlogged, his flesh prickled with stinging cuts and wounds, the stink of blood filling his nose. He should go get himself healed, find a medpack, something. He grit his teeth and felt his mouth grow sore with the force of his clenched jaw. His heart pummeled against his ribs and his insides drew up tight. The world began to drip red.

The RED Scout had reached the stairs, sneakers slapping wetly on the corrugated steel that led upward. He heard the splashes behind him, the loud clicks on the cement of the tunnel, and knew he was being followed. Shit. The sticky trap hadn't taken out that freaky deer guy, and now he was hot on his heels. He whirled around, the sole of his shoe squeaking on the metal stairs, and drew his pistol.

The impact was immediate. How the hell did he get there so fast? The RED's gun went flying as he was suddenly driven off of his feet and back-first into the landing halfway up the stairwell. A blur of blue and red and pink took up his vision for a brief, terrifying moment until the air was forced from his lungs and the sense from his head, bouncing off of the floor. There was a weight atop him, and then hands on his throat. He'd seen a bat. Where was the bat?

Scout, the BLU Scout, straddled his human opposite, his nails biting into the tanned skin of what was once and exact replica of himself. Slim arms flailed, grasping at his, pushing at his face, clawing, scratching, clutching at his wrists to try and pull them away. He'd gotten the drop on the little shit, the flawed reflection, and he would have his victory.

He could smell the fear on him. He could smell a lot of things. The dank, wet smell of the drainage tunnel was nearly overwhelmed by the stink of the bastard on the floor. His sweat flooded Scout's nose, the scent of gunpowder and leather, of chalk and the adhesive of his wraps. He could smell the maple syrup from his breakfast pancakes and the aroma of his shampoo and soap. The RED team, his teammates, left their scents upon him with casual contact. A hand on a shoulder, a high five, a hug; they all left trails Scout could follow with his nose and visualize instantly. It made him dizzy, and over all of it, there was rage. And fear. So much fear, with his wide blue eyes staring up at him, brows furrowed, mouth open, gasping for air that would not come.

Scout was bleeding, the RED's nails ripping him open, but he didn't care. He leaned in, pressing their bodies together, the warmth of the panicking human's body seeping through his wet clothing, and nudged his cheek with his nose. "What's wrong, pally? Don't feel much like talkin'?" he teased, pressing his forehead to the RED's temple to coo into his ear. "You scared?"

The RED spat, blackness closing in, his chest burning. He fought to kick his legs free and reached a hand up, snatching hold of one of the faun's antlers. The flesh was loose and saggy in his grasp, entirely disgusting to hold. Blood seeped down from cuts further up the velvet skin.

"You ain't shit. I'm the man 'round here, you got that?"

He received a sputtering hiss in reply.

Scout grinned, leaning forward, putting all of his weight on the RED's windpipe, tail standing up in a flourish of white. Saliva dripped from his lips and the light left the other man's eyes, his body going limp.

Hissed panting came between Scout's clenched teeth, his shoulders heaving, the cuts on his back ablaze. His head felt heavy, laden, and he leaned against the perfect copy of his face a moment, clenching his eyes shut to try and mitigate the sensory overload. He could hear the water lapping at the walls, the stairs, and footfalls above and beyond. Explosions rocked the distance, and the barest patter of shrapnel sounded clear as day. Gentle plip noises heralded scattered detritus dropping into the pond, and soon, splashing footsteps began to echo.

The smells were stronger. Gunpowder, char, burning flesh, blood, sweat, gore, oil, smoke, and the mixed bag of intense emotions that came with the wanton destruction of mortal life. He could smell the enemy Scout so intensely, it was hard to tear himself from the warm body. It was an anchor, something to cling to, physically certainly, but with his senses as well. He could feel this body, smell it, and it distracted him from how strong the pain in his back, antlers, and leg had become. He could feel the water rolling off of him, and the heavier trails of where his blood ran. The steel stairs were so cold, and suddenly the soft cotton of his tee was rough as sandpaper. Every strand of fur that brushed against the insides of his knickerbockers made his skin prickle and ache.

When did it get so fucking hot?

He was boiling, surging, roiling. Everything hurt, everything felt wrong, everything was writhing and fitful and when did he crawl away? When did he lose his pants? Where was his shirt? There was blood everywhere. He sagged and swayed and it was so heavy. The crown was heavy but it was his and it was hard won and the other was dead. He was Scout, it was him. Him alone. But it was so heavy.

His head sloshed every time he moved and the red came drizzling down his face. More red came, splashing through the tunnel, coming for him, for his base, his intel. He grasped hold of the pistol on the stairs, dropped by his victim, taking his discarded bat in his other hand. His dog tags bobbed against his chest, jingling so loudly in the echo of the stairwell.

When the REDs came around the corner, into the tunnel, their eyes went wide. It was a Medic and Demoman, charging in to make a push and cause confusion to distract from their man already in the base. Instead, they saw their Scout laying dead on the landing, his BLU equivalent standing over him, naked, grimacing, covered in what looked like his own blood. He was speckled in little wounds and gashes along his arms, his strange, cervine feet unsteady as he wobbled in place, the flesh of his antlers coming loose and sagging, bleeding onto his face around their exposed points of bone.

The RED Medic opened his mouth to scream. There were gunshots, a splash as his Demoman fell in front of him, and the click of hooves and a flash of red, a scream that wasn't his. Then nothing.

 

*

 

"You need to get him under control," Miss Pauling's voice came through the phone, terse and frustrated. "Right now, your current assignment is CTF. You are being paid to obtain as much of RED's intelligence as possible. Killing them is part of the job. Gross dismemberment is part of the job. There are explosions. _This_ ," her voice cracked, "is not part of the job, Spy."

"I understand, Miss Pauling. I can assure you that the problem will be dealt with," Spy soothed into the reciever, putting on his best charm. He cast a glance down the hall to the infirmary, where Medic, Heavy, and Engineer were working to contain their youngest teammate.

"I don't want assurances, Spy. I want results. The Administrator won't tolerate this sort of thing again."

"...yes. It will be done."

"See that it does." The line went dead.

Spy sighed and hung the phone up, taking a drag from his cigarette. Well, this was certainly something. Tipping forward off of his heels, he casually made his way to the infirmary, finishing his smoke as he came to the door. He stubbed the butt out on the sole of his shoe then pushed open the door to the waiting room and silently slipped inside.

Sniper waited there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He was chewing at the inside of his lip, and it made him look like he was pouting.

"The ever-concerned friend," the rogue teased with a smirk. "Has there been any news on the little ruffian?"

"None yet. 'e's stopped bellowin' and barkin', though. So at least I think they got him back to people noises," the assassin frowned, tugging the sunglasses from his face to rub at the bridge of his nose. "That was bloody awful."

"Are Pyro and Soldier finished cleaning out the access tunnel?"

"Last I 'eard, they managed to scrape and shovel everything together enough that the RED respawn finally picked it up. As it is, they're still not too keen on us. At least, the non-'umans amongst us."

"Yes, well that is their problem to grouse about, not ours. I'm sure it will smooth over in time." Spy waved Sniper's concerns off, taking up a spot against the wall beside him. "I'll run reconnaissance and see if we have any true cause for concern later."

The Australian nodded, an affirmative noise his only real response. His eyes were narrow, glued on the door to the infirmary.

"He will be fine," Spy soothed, a gloved hand coming to rest on the taller man's shoulder.

Sniper deflated, a long, heavy sigh leaving his chest. "Yeh. I—thanks."

"Think nothing of it, mon ami. Where is Demoman?"

"Ah, 'e's in there with 'em. They called 'im in as a supernatural expert. Heavy and the doc don't 'ave the breadth of knowledge. And you know 'ow Truckie is."

"Mm, yes, I'm quite aware. Funny, considering how much of him is artificial."

"'e's out of 'is element," Sniper chuckled.

"Then why is he in there?"

"Well..."

 

*

 

"Was wonderin' when that was gonna finally happen," Engineer hummed, watching as Medic's scalpel slid along the length of Scout's antlers, slicing clean through the sloughing velvet flesh that once coated their six points. The bone beneath was pink, stained with blood, and raw, still separating from the dying flesh that had coaxed its growth.

Scout lay on the surgery table, his breath coming quickly, his face screwed up in pain. He clenched his fists and his teeth, trying not to let out any whimpers. His arms and legs were lashed tightly to the table with leather restraints, Heavy standing close by, watching carefully for any sign of slipping his bonds. The wounds from the fight had been healed by liberal application of medigun, but the heat and the sensory expansion hadn't died down. Even now Scout felt like he should be sweating, his bare back against the cold metal table, his chest rising and falling, nearly hyperventilating. The pain scorched through him in lightning barbs, tearing into his skull and making his stomach gather itself up into a tight ball. He trembled, the knife like flames slicing through him, exposing the living bone sticking from his head, the dying skin still bleeding and hurting as Medic peeled it away.

"Normally a buck sheds his velvet earlier in the season, startin' 'round the end of summer, beginnin' of fall. Skin sloughs like this, and they rub it off on trees and the such," Engineer explained, his voice soft, quiet, steady. He stood beside the table, looking over Scout as he suffered, trying to distract the faun.

It was helping. The Texan's gentle drawl, the light wheeze to his breaths, and the warm bass humming through the steel of the table all gave Scout something to focus on. He squeezed his eyes tight and let the sound wash into him, concentrating on Engineer and letting him fill his senses. He could smell smoke and grease on him, sweat underneath, still grimy from the field. He let Engineer's voice thrum into him, vibrating through his core, and tried to let it bleed away the pain.

"It's a long process, and none too pretty, and they do it once a year. The buck keeps his antlers until the spring or so, once all of the does in his territory are pregnant, and sheds 'em off. Then he starts growin' 'em again. I don't know how it works for fauns, but seein' as there ain't any ladies here, and certainly none gettin' themselves in a family way, I get the feelin' these babies're gonna stick around for a while."

"Fauns shed their antlers once every decade or so," Demoman supplied, staying back and away from the surgery. He took a swig from his scrumpy, his arms crossed on top of Medic's electrocardiograph machine where he was leaning. "They grow quickly, then spend most o' the time as bare points. Ye should be fine, lad."

Scout took a deep breath, wincing as Medic pulled one antler's velvet free and turned the ceiling-mounted medigun on his head to heal the exposed bone. "So is that why I turned those two chucklefucks into hamburger? An' why all 'a my senses are on overdrive? An' why I wanna fight you all? An' fuck you all?"

"Fuck us all?" Heavy questioned with amusement.

"I wanna punch that stupid smirk off your face then shove my dick in your mouth an' choke you with it while you're tryin' to spit out the blood," the faun hissed, a whimper escaping him as Medic began to slice at his other antler.

"Wow," came the giant's reply, looking the quivering young man over.

"Stands to reason," Engineer allowed, placing a hand on Scout's knee and scratching through the fur there, watching the faun's expression soften as he focused again on the Texan and the sensory input he was giving him, pulling him away from the pain. "After all, the whole reason deer grow their antlers is for matin'. Attractin' does and fightin' other bucks for dominance and matin' rights. You're in rut, sounds like."

"You're kiddin' me. I'm like those dumb asshole deer you see dead by the highway every fall?" Scout groaned, exasperated and pained.

"You wanna fight?"

"Yeah."

"You wanna fuck?"

"Yeah."

"Rut."

"Shit."

Demoman chuckled, "Far as I know, rut won't last until yer antlers shed like for deer, lad. Just probably a month or so. Fauns dinnae do that so much, else we'd be overrun with the horny wee immortal blighters."

"So that's something," Engineer nodded. "Good thing you're not an actual deer."

"I'm gonna feel like this for a month? It's turnin' me into a total dick, though!"

"Give or take," Demoman hemmed, taking another swig. "'Course it can take longer dependin' on how much...exercise ye get."

"Exercise?" Heavy asked.

The bomber grinned in reply, waggling his eyebrows.

"Exercise," Heavy repeated, understanding. He turned to Scout with a grin. "Is not like we do not already help Scout with this."

"Oh, ye have nae idea. You thought he was bad before? Once every day or two? Think once a meal, with all this extra aggression on top o' it."

"Gettin' pretty hungry," Scout growled, then yelped as Medic peeled the last of the flesh from his antlers.

"The four of you make it difficult to work," he grumbled, setting aside his scalpel and turning the medigun onto Scout again. He stretched his wings a bit, fluffing up his feathers after holding them still for so long. "There. Your velvet is shed, und the bone should cease being tender rather quickly. You should get cleaned up, und we can see what we can do about these violent tendencies of yours, Scout. We cannot have you stringing the RED team's insides around like Smissmas garlands every day. Much as I am impressed by your anatomical artistry. You have an eye for composition, mein Freund."

"Aye, let me get Sniper. The two o' us can get him down tae the showers and, er, help him out," Demoman chuckled, slipping out of the door to the waiting room, trailed by the clicking of Medic undoing Scout's restraints.

 

*

 

"You truly expect me to believe that a history of hunting deer honestly qualifies him to know anything about cervine faun anatomy? Next you're going to tell me that a stage magician's experience with doves makes him an expert on Medic's more recent bodily additions," Spy snorted, smirking at Sniper's exaggerated eye-rolling in reply.

The door opening caught both men's attention, drawing it to Demoman peeking out. "Dee, he's done."

"Is 'e alright?"

"He'll be fine. Medic finished up his velvet sheddin', and we explained to him what's happenin'. All healed up. But we need tae get him tae the showers tae clean up."

"So what _is_ happenin' to him?"

"He's ruttin'. Gonna be extra aggressive the next few weeks. Physically and sexually."

"Sexually?"

"It's matin' season, love."  
Sniper ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. Rut. Of course. "Aces. Just what the little bugger needs. Even more sex."

"It's goin' tae be a _lot_ more," Demoman assured him with a grin. "Any volunteers?"

"You're askin' me to take one for the team, aren't you?" the assassin smirked.

"Getting roughly taken by monsters _is_ your hobby, is it not?" Spy teased, tugging his cigarette case from his jacket.

Shooting a pointed look filled with equal amounts humour and venom to Spy, Sniper nodded. "Yeh, alright. Let's get 'im cleaned up and I'll take the first shot, I suppose." He pushed off of the wall and approached his lover. "So long as you'll be willing to give me a hand, love."

"Hand, mouth, whatever ye like," Demoman laughed, throwing an arm around Sniper's waist as he led him into the surgery.

"BLU has done well to hire an entire team of promiscuous perverts," Spy grumbled, lighting his cigarette as they left him alone. Not like he could complain. He reaped the benefits regularly, himself.

 

*

 

Sniper hit the tiles hard. He barely had time to get his hands under him, knees stinging from the impact, before Scout was on top of him. Warm skin pressed to his back, wet fur rubbing his legs and hips as teeth began to worry at his shoulder. The smaller man grasped him tightly, grinding his whole body against him, his breath stuttering as he shuddered, overcome by lust. The insistent, firm heat of Scout's cock pressed against his ass, and he was glad that Demoman had insisted on preparing him before they joined Scout in the showers.

The faun didn't wait, didn't say anything, just reached back and angled his cock, then pushed in, wrapping his slim arms back around the taller man as he slid in to the root, groaning when the tight, slick heat enveloped him. He closed his eyes, overcome as his senses seemed to explode.

Everything had been acute and so bright, but now it was bleeding together into a loud, colourful slurry of scents, sounds, tastes, and touches, the tang of sweat and aroma of musk overcoming soap and water in the heat of his need. Sniper's body was hot and slippery, and he cleaved to every shape of Scout's cock, every texture inside of him maddeningly vivid in the faun's mind. He was dizzy and tight, coiled so much he spun without motion, and as his hips began to move, he stopped caring about control.

Sniper rocked in place, held tightly against Scout's body as he thrust, but moved all the same by the sheer force of the faun's snapping hips, burying his cock as deep inside his body as he could, forcing out rough moans in a punishing rhythm. He looked up to see Demoman watching with a grin, hand on his dick, stroking leisurely.

Of course he'd be enjoying the show, the daft pervert. It brought a loopy grin to Sniper's lips, quickly reduced back into a mask of pleasured moans by Scout's rough fucking.

Demoman knelt before his lover and ran a hand along his jaw, looking to Scout for permission. The last thing he wanted was to start a fight over mating rights with a rutting faun. Save that shit for the full moon.

Scout nodded, snorting a breath through his nose before returning to biting at the back of Sniper's neck, bellowing into his skin with a voice more cervine than human. He didn't care what he wanted with the bushman's mouth. All that mattered was his dick buried deep in Sniper's ass, fucking him until his body gave out.

A rumbling low dropped from Scout's mouth, fading as he nibbled at Sniper's shoulder, his eyes glued on Demoman in front of him. He picked up his pace, hammering the rangy assassin, tail wagging. "When I'm done fuckin' you, I'mma fuck that. I'mma fuck you both. I'mma shove 'im down and fuck 'im so hard 'e screams. I'm gonna bruise the bottom 'a his lungs I'mma fuck 'im so deep. And when I'm done, I'm gonna fuck you again." The faun's voice was thick with lust, and slurred. He mumbled against the tanned, freckled flesh of the bushman's neck, his breath hot and moist. "You ain't walkin' outta here, Snipes. I'm fillin' you with so much jizz your guts are gonna be all swollen like you're fuckin' pregnant or some shit. Heh, that's fuckin' gross, huh?" He shook with laughter, then bit at Sniper's neck, a growl bubbling in his throat.

"Shit!"

Pitching down onto all fours, the bottle of lube clutched in one hand, Demoman nuzzled at the bushman's cheek a moment before kissing him gently. "How's it, Mickey?"

Sniper leaned his forehead against the Scot's cheek. "F—fuck. A month of this?"

"Mmm, aye. Dinnae worry. I'm next, ye ken. I'll give ye a good show, love."

**Author's Note:**

> credit to my dear Docteurfail for Demo's cutesy nickname for Sniper, "Dee"


End file.
